


Mess Is Mine

by maroon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, RK1K Week, Soulmate AU, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maroon/pseuds/maroon
Summary: Markus had thought someone along the lines of North would be the one who would be his soulmate.But he was wrong.He's never been more wrong.





	Mess Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> [john mulaney voice] oh, my head 
> 
>  
> 
> [let's talk](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rk-1k)
> 
>  
> 
> i based this off of the choice tree where you just fuck over everything and markus gets hella hated by jcho, and if your connor is a bastard. love that path !

North is all consuming, like a fire. A wild fire, maybe. Markus had thought, when he first laid eyes on her, that, _ah, yes. She… will be the one_. The one his heart will beat for. But in the end, she’s the one who makes his heartbeat _stop._

She looks up at him, fire in the depths of her eyes, her hair bright like a hazard, a warning. Maybe he should have seen it all before he let himself fall into the childish, human belief that something like him could even love. She says, with that pink, lush mouth of hers, she _says_ :

“You can no longer lead the revolution,” She notifies him, and the catch is that he _never_ wanted to. He has always known that there’s too much softness inside him, too much _grey_ , too much incompetence and _artistry_ , too much violence and confusion for him to be the leader Jericho needs. But how could he have said _no_ when all their eyes were on him, as if they were waiting for him all along? As if he was the angel North was praying for, the righteous angel descending from heaven?

She looks him straight into the eyes and thrusts the knife deep into his stomach, but he _knows_ she’s right. “You’re not the one we’ve been waiting for,” her looks despondent but only truth spills from her mouth. He almost thinks the next words coming from her would be an apology, but she only twists the knife deeper, “I’m going to take over and save what can still be saved.”

He lets disbelief show on his face. She’s won. She doesn’t deserve the mantle of being Jericho’s leader; no one does. No one _should_ , and they know that. It’s a danger, a soul-sucking endeavour that none of them really understand. But _North_ knows the fate that’s out there for people like them. She knows more than Markus ever will.

Because the truth is that he’s lived a life of luxury even when he didn’t see it that way. Carl _loved_ him, treated him like family, like the son he’s always wanted. Markus had a life. North never did. She’d always been _owned_ . She’d always been _let down_. And here is Markus, in front of her, slowly realising that she isn’t _his_ soulmate. Slowly realising that he’s not and he won’t be the man these people deserve.

And here she is, in front of Markus, finally taking her fate into her own hands.

There has always been brands on her. But none of them were borne out of innocence and love. Not like the purple and blue tulips that bloom around Josh’s left arm and Simon’s right. Not like the small maple leaf hidden beneath the dark tattoos on Carl’s body. Not like the single red ring around Markus’ forefinger.

He thought, when he first saw her, that the red on his finger matched her hair.

But as always, he’d been wrong.

Simon has his head bent towards Josh, who has an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. Josh is looking at him, and it’s with a different kind of pity than what he’s seen from the unmoving android sympathisers who watched him get kicked down by protesters.

They’re disgusted by him.

Josh says, “I’m with North.”

Simon’s hand is tight as it clutches at Josh’s jacket. “I’m with North.”

Markus almost smiles.

That’s definitely the first time they’ve all come together in Markus’ presence.

He nods. “Alright,” because what else can he do? Stomp his feet, tell them it isn’t fair? Tell them that _he_ , a man who has _stumbled_ into this role is better suited to lead a people than them? Maybe one day, he could be. But now, he couldn’t possibly _comprehend_ the weight of how their loss would sit on their kind.

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll leave.” And as he walks out, he can almost feel hurt course through him, _rejection_ , and it’s like waking up in that wet junkyard again, the sounds of rain and the harsh, _pained_ moans of the half-dead rushing into his brain and clutching his heart in a vise-like grip, making him truly _fear_ for the first time.

He should have tried better to be worthy of Jericho. But he never was.

In the end, he gets to walk out again. Vilified. Rejected.

But this time he knew he was headed in this direction. All because he thought he could finally love. All because he thought he could be a little bit more than the android who crawled up out of some junkyard after cannibalising his own brothers and sisters for parts.

Markus closes his eyes and walks. It doesn’t matter what happens to him now. And it’s better that no one will mourn his loss. His death would mean nothing in the slaughter that has been ensuing ever since he took the mantle of Jericho’s leader.

He just… he _wishes_ that the little red ring around his finger would’ve been around North’s, too.

When he walks, he knows North is staring at his back, her head held high, her hands curled into fists that can never be small, every bit the bloodied warrior that she is forced to be.

The Detroit night welcomes him with a harsh nip that he feels so, so keenly.

He keeps on walking.

* * *

Light floods his eyes even as Jericho twinkles in the distance. But this isn’t sunlight, or the dim lights of a lamp post. It’s harsh and flashing, so when Markus looks up, the regulator between his ribs twist, his breathing becoming shallow as he watches the great gunship emblazoned with _3_ fly across the sky surely and threateningly.

There isn’t a choice here, he thinks. Death or death?

He walks away, he’s dogged by the reality of his incompetence and failure to help his people achieve the life they deserve. He stays, he dies in a hail of bullets, _helping_ his people achieve their birthright.

What was he thinking, completely walking away from Jericho when he could have stayed and fought, even as a useless pawn?

_Stupid_ , Markus thinks harshly as he bullets into a sprint, his boots crunching against snow and debris. Jericho is a maze he knows by heart, spending days upon days just walking in her winding pathways, remembering her as his home. His feet carry him where the gunshots originate, willing himself to be faster, to be better, because it _counts._ It has always _counted._ It has always _mattered._

Two SWAT members barrel through an android Markus knows to be named Chris, and something in him boils, running forward to catch one by the neck, throwing him into the man next to him. He picks up the man’s rifle and shoots three bullets in each body, one in the heart, two in the head.

Chris shivers where he’s lying prostrate on the ground. Markus doesn’t wait for a word of gratitude. He just tucks the gun closer to his body and continues running, even though he’s… he doesn’t know what he’s doing, short of just _save Jericho._

“We haven’t done anything wrong—!” A feminine voice calls, and Markus screeches to a halt, pressing himself against the steel walls and listening to the pleads of the androids being forced onto their knees. They haven’t done anything wrong. They _haven’t_.

He closes his eyes, waits, but he doesn’t let them shoot. He shoves on forward and aims for the head, one shot  to get through the reinforced glass of their helmets, and then another through their hearts.

What’s the point in those fucking organs if they don’t use it?

Markus averts his eyes from the androids stumbling to their feet, their eyes wide and mouths agape, like they just cannot believe what’s in front of them. Markus could relate. He shoulders on and stops when he comes to a catwalk, the soft static of a radio signal reverberating through the air.

He checks his gun and hisses when he finds out that there are no bullets left, berating himself for wasting it on the humans who keep antagonising them. He shakes his head and disposes of the gun, before beginning his trek anew. He knows that North’s planted a bomb somewhere in the heart of Jericho; he himself thought it was clever, to collapse the what could be their metal coffin. She tried to give him the remote to it, but he declined. He… he was unsure if he had it in him to set off the one place he considered home after he got out of the junkyard.

But now… he has no choice.

Again, they’ve been pushed into a corner, like rats.

Markus curls his hands into fists.

“Don’t—!” _Josh._

He moves before he’s even fully sure what he’s doing, ripping the armoured man off of Josh and slamming his boot down until the helmet breaks, but he doesn’t stop, he continues until there’s a squelch underneath his boot, and Josh is calling his name. Markus is whirled to face black eyes, and he breathes deeply, body tense with the need to bring his boot down until that motherfucker’s head is nothing but mush on the goddamned floor.

But Josh keeps his hands on Markus’ face, searing his gaze into Markus. “I’m good, I’m good,” he chants, like he can’t believe it himself, “We’re good. You came back.” He laughs, hysterical given the situation, “You came back, you fucking bastard.”

“Where’s—?” He opens his mouth to ask, heart falling when he doesn’t see North or Simon anywhere near Josh.

“They’re evacuating the rest of the deviants,” He rushes to say, “But we—they’re killing all of us. Gunning us down like, like…”

“Like rats,” Markus hisses. “I know where the bomb is.” It was the last thing North trusted him with. “Be ready to jump ship.”

Josh grabs him by the arm and shakes him. He glares at Markus. “Do _not_ die. We don’t trust you, but we need all the help we need.”

Markus nods, picking up the rifle, sticky with blood, and tossing it to Josh, who catches it effortlessly. They tip their heads at each other in goodbye, and then Markus is running again, but now, he’s running to some place where he knows he can make a difference.

That bomb is going off even if it kills him.

Even the control room is amber, just like North’s hair.

He jogs to the main console and presses his hand into the glowing pad, but before he can, a gunshot whirrs and embeds itself into his shoulder, knocking him forward. He grapples at the entry point and whirls around, his gaze falling on a man with his body swathed in dark clothing, expression thunderous and severely calculating.

He sneers at Markus, like he’s just a cockroach underneath his boot, or worse, a useless hurdle in his way. Markus glares back at the man.

“RK200.” He greets.

“Who the fuck are you?” Markus pushes himself up and stares down the barrel of the gun. It’s nothing compared to the behemoth the SWAT team were using to slaughter them by the dozen, but true fear curls inside him when the man grins, or tries to, the side of his mouth twitching with amusement.

“My mission is to neutralise you, RK200. Does that compute?” He talks to Markus as if Markus was just some baseline AI. He cocks the gun and takes one step closer. He’s built differently than Markus, standing smaller and somehow less unassuming than Markus’ broad body. Maybe that’s why he didn’t pick him out in a crowd, if he’d been with them from the start, like rogue coding amongst well oiled C++ programming.

He doesn’t give the snake a chance; Markus lunges for him but the man is quick, quicker than Markus, tossing him onto his back and throwing one of his legs over to straddle and pin Markus down by the hips, his gun just as dark and glaring at they stare him down.

“You have no choice in the matter, RK200,” he informs him. “And neither do I, it seems.”

The man squeezes the trigger, or tries to, because Markus reaches up and grabs him by the back of his head, all but ripping his hair off as he throws the man onto the dark, thirium soaked ground. The gun clatters to the ground and Markus picks it up effortlessly, kicking the man in the middle of the chest to send him sprawling.

“Only one of us can succeed,” Markus hisses, “And it won’t be you.”

He shoots, and the man lets himself be shot, tackling Markus back, his head hitting the side of the main console. His head rings, static manifesting in his visual systems, and Markus shakes his head, opening his mouth and breathing deeply, trying to get his operating systems back to working order.

“I’ve sacrificed too much to lose here, deviant,” the man states, one hand over his bleeding thirium regulator. “Too—”

Markus shoots him in the kneecap, making him buckle and fall onto his knees. He stares up at Markus and dares to smile, blue blood coating his perfectly white teeth. He raises his hands in faux surrender, wiggling his fingers.

Fucking _lunatic._

A flash of red that’s too neon catches his eyes.

There, around the man’s pinky—

“I didn’t want this—” Markus begins to babble, but the man just grins some more, bringing his hand forward to inspect the matching red ring around his finger.

“We’ll meet again, _Markus_ ,” His voice is slurred and static, eyes glassy and black, like mirrors facing the night sky, “This isn’t over.”

He falls backwards, eyes blank and staring at nothing. Markus grits his teeth. Nothing makes it out of his mouth as he shoots the man again, and again, and again, until his torso is riddled with holes and that stupid _perfect_ grin is too saturated with blue blood to be called beautiful.

His fucking _soulmate._

The man sent to _kill him._

Markus slams his hand onto the console and initiates the self-destruct system, before kicking the body aside and running out. Everything left in this place is the useless body of the one _created_ to be his.

North is bloodied and one of her arms are missing when he sees her, Simon half-carrying her down the hall. Josh is covering fire for both of them, and he cusses when he lays eyes on Markus.

“Come on!” He shouts. Markus disposes of a few more SWAT members and picks up a shield, covering all of them as they make for the nearest exit that they could find.

As he urges all of them to jump, he thinks of the broken body laying lifeless at the heart of the explosion, wondering how the hell they’ll ever meet again, and hating himself as he realises that he looks forward to meeting his nameless soulmate again.

**Author's Note:**

> leave nice shit.


End file.
